


the tale your body tells me

by FullmetalChords



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Image, Body Worship, Established Relationship, M/M, Mirror Sex, Nonbinary Character, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Scars, this time it's the consort claude agenda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-24 23:41:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22126408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullmetalChords/pseuds/FullmetalChords
Summary: “No,” Claude breathes, and tugs in frustration at Dimitri’s hair. “Don’t look at me. Look at us, Dima. Don’t we look lovely together?”Dimitri’s heart stutters in his chest at the request. He can only look at his own haggard appearance , at the scarring on his face and body, for half a moment before he has to turn away, burying his face in Claude’s hair.“Gorgeous,” he says, if only so Claude will stop asking him.--The war may be over, but its story is still written all over Dimitri's body.Written for Dimiclaude Week 2020, Day 4, "scars/healing".
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 21
Kudos: 262





	the tale your body tells me

Claude likes to watch himself. 

There is a full-length mirror in their bedroom, opposite their bed — a luxury afforded the king of Faerghus, framed by carved and gilded wood. Dimitri has caught Claude primping before it from time to time, making sure his hair is styled just right before he heads to an important meeting or adjusting his ceremonial jewelry before a festival. Dimitri does not think Claude an overly vain man, but his husband does take care toward his own appearance, making sure he is showing off his best side.

Right now, however, Claude does not seem overly concerned with appearing composed.

“Ohh,” Claude moans, and spreads his legs slightly wider, bracing himself on his elbows against the mirror. “Oh, _fuck,_ Dimochka...! Harder—! Yes— just like that—!”

Dimitri slides nearly all the way out of Claude, one hand splayed possessively over his husband’s lower stomach, before snapping his hips forward again, making Claude wail. Claude is a responsive lover, not shy about using his body and voice to show Dimitri what he needs… and Dimitri is nothing if not an attentive pupil, taking careful mental notes every time they make love about the best way to please Claude. 

He buries his face in Claude’s shoulder as he takes him from behind, overwhelmed, as usual, by how he feels. How much he still wants Claude, even after being together for so long. Making love to Claude, helping his husband to feel pleasure, is the duty he most cherishes in his life; it never feels a chore, or a burden, like so many of his other duties. Nor does it ever feel stale, with the two of them finding different paths to ecstasy every time. 

Sex with Claude is a gift… and being the only one to make Claude feel like this, even more so. 

“Hey.” He hears Claude gasp, then feels his fingers tangle in his hair as he reaches behind. “Look up, Dima. Look. Here.”

Dimitri raises his head, hooking his chin over Claude’s shoulder as he looks. Claude’s face is flushed, eyes meeting his in the mirror as he smiles broadly.

“Look at us,” he says, hushed, reaching back to grip Dimitri’s flank, nuzzling Dimitri’s face with the side of his even as he keeps eye contact with Dimitri’s reflection. “We’re beautiful together, Dima. Don’t you see it?”

Dimitri looks, his eye roaming over Claude’s reflection. At the dusting of hair across his chest, at his powerful thighs, at his proud cock standing tall between his legs. Goddess, but his husband is gorgeous, especially when he’s in the throes of pleasure. 

“No,” Claude breathes, and tugs in frustration at Dimitri’s hair. “Don’t look at me. Look at _us_ , Dima. Don’t we look lovely together?”

Dimitri’s heart stutters in his chest at the request. He can only glance at his own haggard appearance , at the scarring on his face and body, for half a moment before he has to turn away, burying his face in Claude’s hair.

“Gorgeous,” he says, if only so Claude will stop asking him. He hears Claude start to speak again, but he reaches lower to grip his husband’s cock, tight, the way he likes it. “Come for me, my beloved.”

He fucks Claude with renewed vigor, satisfied by the way Claude screams his name, pulling his hair hard enough to yank Dimitri’s head back. It’s only a few moments before Claude is spilling white over his knuckles, before he releases inside Claude with a final, shuddering gasp. 

They catch their breath together, Claude’s grip in his hair going slack as his hand trails down, caressing the side of Dimitri’s face. 

“Azizam,” he hears Claude murmur. “Will you still not look at yourself?”

What little peace Dimitri has found with his release leaves as easily as it had come.

He does not answer right away. Rather, he bends down to scoop Claude into his arms, letting his husband nuzzle into his neck. 

“I’ll take you to bed,” he whispers, kissing Claude’s forehead. “Get us both cleaned up.”

He sets about his tasks, carefully depositing Claude on the mattress before grabbing a pitcher of water and basin from near the door. 

The truth is, Dimitri can hardly bear to look at his reflection, even on good days. He relies on Claude and Dedue to help him look presentable in public, hardly daring to check his own appearance before leaving his chambers in the morning. A not-insignificant part of his reluctance has to do with the shame he still feels for his conduct during the war: The soldiers he’d butchered indiscriminately, the mindless way he’d used the strength of those around him… the pain he caused foe and ally alike. After all he’d done, he can hardly look himself in the eye. At least, not until he has properly atoned for his actions.

But apart from that…

There is much that Dimitri hates about his body. The shape of it is wrong, the shoulders so broad that people cannot help but look at him and think “man”, no matter what he is wearing. Even a short time ago, he would have written this thought off as foolish, because it is not as though he can change what he is… but Claude has never done anything but validate his feelings, encouraging Dimitri to wear what is most comfortable to him, to simply be _Dima_ when he is with him and not worry about how Faerghus believes a man should look and act. 

Still, it does not change the fact that he hates how his body is shaped, with the wide shoulders and bulging muscles. 

And, the shape of his body aside, Dimitri simply knows that he is ugly. He’s seen the scars — has seen the collection on his skin grow from the time he was thirteen years old and the fires of Duscur licked along his hands and arms. He cannot even show his entire face in public, lest the scarring over his ruined right eye — Cornelia’s last and cruelest souvenir — unsettle those around him. When in public, he often takes care to cover as much of his body as he can, in order to avoid reminding people of how grotesque his body is.

But as he comes to lie next to Claude once more, naked like this… he is all the more aware of the differences between them, the flaws that he cannot conceal from his beloved.

Claude is quiet, at first, as Dimitri works on cleaning him up, running a damp cloth over his stomach and between his legs. Claude reaches up, touching Dimitri’s face as he does so.

“Sweetheart.” He speaks softly. “Talk to me.”

Dimitri leans unconsciously into his husband’s touch, sighing. 

“I am sorry, Claude,” he says. His hands fall into his lap, and Claude sits up. They sit cross-legged on the bed, knees touching, Claude still caressing Dimitri’s face. “Whenever I see us together in the mirror like that, I cannot help but think of the differences between us.”

A crease appears between Claude’s eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I—” Dimitri holds up his hands helplessly. “N-not what you think, Claude. I mean only — my own shortcomings.” He looks down at his hands — too large, too clumsy, the backs still covered in burn scars. The hands of a warrior, not of a king or a lover. “Claude, you are… you are so beautiful. So graceful. You deserve a partner to match your splendor, and not some… some broken beast.”

His voice and hands shake as he says the last few words, echoes of yet another old hurt. Claude’s hands come to cover his, and Dimitri turns his watery gaze to Claude.

His husband is smiling at him, warm, the corners of his eyes turning up as he holds onto Dimitri’s ruined hands.

“Would it help,” he asks, “if I reminded you that I love you?”

Dimitri chuckles in spite of himself, feeling the color rush to his cheeks.

“I did not realize that was ever in question.”

He holds onto Claude’s hands, lacing his fingers through Claude’s. Claude loves him — yes. It is a balm on his uneasy soul on the worst of his days, to know that Claude is at his side. 

But Dimitri has no illusions about the nature of Claude’s love. Claude has fallen in love with his heart, somehow: has looked past Dimitri’s ugly exterior and chosen to love who Dimitri is on the inside. But there is no possible way that Claude can love his outsides, too, not with the hell his body has gone through. No, Claude loves Dimitri in spite of his looks, not because of them. Claude has never said this to him — but it is so obvious that he hardly needs to. 

“I’d hope not,” Claude says, drawing Dimitri out of his morbid thoughts. “But maybe sometimes you need a reminder.”

He takes Dimitri’s right hand between both of his, bringing it to his lips. Claude’s mouth skims directly over the burn scars that still linger there, a decade on from the Tragedy, and Dimitri cannot help his sharp intake of breath.

“Cl—”

“I’ve always loved your hands,” Claude murmurs, and Dimitri’s heart stutters to a halt in his chest. “Did you know that? For their strength as well as their gentleness. Do you know how rare it is, finding a person capable of showing both? Do you have any idea, Dima, how incredible you are?”

“Claude,” Dimitri starts, his husband’s name caught in his throat. He doesn’t know why, but he suddenly feels on the verge of tears. “Th-they’re so ugly,” he says, voice wavering. “The skin’s… bumpy, and patchy, and parts are still the wrong color—”

“They’re perfect,” Claude insists. He continues kissing along the back of his hand, from the wrist to the fingertips. “Perfect — because they’re yours. Scars and all. They’ve been hurt, and they’ve still come out the other side. Just like you have.” Claude exhales, lips still wandering Dimitri’s skin like he’s savoring a particularly wonderful meal, corners of his mouth upturning. “Gods and goddesses, the way your hands feel on me…”

He kisses the tip of Dimitri’s index finger, then sucks it into his mouth, to the first knuckle. The effect on Dimitri is immediate, his cock twitching eagerly against his thigh as he gasps.

“Goddess…”

He can feel Claude’s tongue swirling around his fingertip, taking the digit deeper into his mouth. He keeps eye contact with Dimitri as he does it, the corners of his eyes smiling — but it doesn’t feel teasing, doesn’t feel like a game he’s playing to rile Dimitri up. Rather, it feels as though Claude is trying to show Dimitri the depth of his appreciation for everything Dimitri is, both inside and out.

Dimitri does not understand it.

Claude takes a second finger into his mouth, and Dimitri cannot help but stiffen, suddenly tense by all the attention Claude is giving him. Claude sees this and pulls off, giving Dimitri’s fingers an apologetic kiss before taking his hand between both his own again, as though guarding it.

“All right?”

“Nnn…” Dimitri can feel his face heating. “Why are you doing this?”

Claude leans forward so his forehead is pressing against Dimitri’s. Dimitri mindlessly brings his free hand up to touch the side of Claude’s neck, to feel the rush of his pulse.

“Because someone, one day, told you that you were nothing but a ‘broken beast’.” There is barely concealed anger and bitterness in his tone. “It’s about time someone gave you a different story to follow.”

Dimitri cannot help but tilt his head to kiss Claude properly, overwhelmed by his ardor, his regard, the kindness he thinks to show Dimitri when no one, not even Dimitri himself, thinks to do otherwise. He leans over his husband, Claude moving his hands behind himself to keep from falling over, but all Dimitri can think of is getting Claude underneath him, to show his appreciation for the gift Claude has given him.

“Mm…” Claude pushes slightly on Dimitri’s chest, getting him to break the kiss. “Hold on, my lion. I’m not finished yet.”

“It is sufficient.” Dimitri presses back in for another kiss, in part because he cannot help but kiss Claude when he is saying such lovely things… but also, in part, because he is not sure he can bear hearing Claude saying much more. And anyway, the night is still young, and Claude is still loose from making love by the mirror earlier. He wonders if Claude might like to ride him tonight, or if he would prefer to surrender control, to writhe under Dimitri’s attentions as he clutches their sheets…

“Mmph— no, it’s _not_ ,” Claude insists into his mouth, then pulls back again, planting a stubborn kiss on Dimitri’s nose before pulling further back, scooting a few inches away on the bed. Dimitri can’t help but feel slightly disappointed, the distance feeling far more vast than it is until Claude takes his hand again. “I haven’t told you all the things I love about you yet.”

Heat creeps up the back of Dimitri’s neck again. “I told you, you needn’t—”

“I think I do.” Claude gives Dimitri a knowing eye. “You were hoping to distract me so I’d forget, weren’t you?” 

“No,” Dimitri says, too quickly, and Claude raises an eyebrow.

“You thought if you could fuck me hard enough, I might forget you need to be loved on, too?” Claude snorts, affectionate. “Silly.”

Dimitri huffs out a breath, covering his face with both hands. “Clauuuude…”

He doesn’t know how Claude does this, always able to see through him so plainly. Nor does he understand why Claude is taking this so seriously. What does it matter, if Dimitri primarily focuses on Claude’s pleasure when they make love? Of the two of them, Claude is the one who most deserves to feel good. He is beautiful, righteous, self-sacrificing… He is _whole_. Dimitri has improved since the days of the war, but… whether or not he deserves pleasure is a question that has an answer that changes from day to day. 

There are times, particularly when he is alone, when Dimitri is so aware of his flaws that pleasure feels forever out of his reach. He’d resigned himself to a life without it, before Claude had come back from Almyra. And even while Dimitri is king, while Claude is his official consort as well as the first-ever Almyran ambassador to Fodlan, it is Dimitri who feels he owes allegiance to _Claude_. He cannot fight the urge to fall onto his knees and worship Claude at every opportunity. Dimitri feels as though part of his duty is to give Claude the life of pleasure and love that he so clearly deserves, every day that they are together. It is a bonus if he receives the same— but his own happiness, his own satisfaction, is not as essential to Dimitri as Claude’s is. 

He’d thought he’d hidden that agenda from Claude sufficiently, but judging from the way Claude is looking at him now, Dimitri has the sensation that he is fully transparent. 

“Dima.” Claude laces his fingers through Dimitri’s, giving his hand a squeeze. “Will you try something with me?” 

“Anything,” he says without thinking, and Claude’s smile widens.

“Come here.” He tugs gently, guiding Dimitri to his feet. “I want you to meet somebody.”

Claude leads Dimitri by the hands across the room before, predictably, stopping before the mirror, with Claude standing between Dimitri and his view of himself. 

“I wanted you,” Claude says, still gripping Dimitri’s hands, “to meet the person I love best in the world. The love of my life.”

Dimitri’s stomach is already sinking like a rock. “Claude, I…”

“Hey, I know,” he says, soothing. He touches Dimitri’s face, gently. “I want you to see the Dima I see, that’s all. Even if that doesn’t happen tonight… I don’t just love parts of you and ignore the rest, darling. I love _all of you_. I’ll spend as long as it takes to help you understand that.”

Dimitri can already feel the tears welling up in his good eye, threatening to spill over. 

“I can’t,” he says, turning his body away from the mirror. “I can’t see it. I can’t… look. Not yet.”

“Okay.” Claude takes him by the hands again, pulling them a few steps away, closer to the fire and further from the mirror. “Then we won’t have to look together. But will you listen to me?”

He reaches up to run a gentle thumb under Dimitri’s left eye, catching the tears that have begun to fall and wiping them carefully away. Dimitri takes a deep breath, inhaling calm and breathing out his distress, and shakily nods. 

“All right.”

Claude gives him a wide smile, then takes one of his hands, nuzzling the skin once more.

“So, I love your hands,” he begins. “We’ve been over this. I could write poems about them — and I have — but we should move on, don’t you think?”

Dimitri blinks. “You’ve… written poetry about my hands?”

Claude grins, showing his teeth.

“Back when we were in school. It’s terrible. I’ll have to read it for you sometime.” He kisses the back of Dimitri’s hand once more, then lets go, slowly circling him. “Now, here…” He touches a spot on Dimitri’s back, feather-light, and he involuntarily sucks in a breath, not expecting it. “These are old, too, aren’t they?”

“From protecting Dedue,” Dimitri says quietly. He cannot see exactly where Claude is touching, but he can still remember how it felt, the blades of his countrymen entering his back for the crime of protecting a vulnerable outsider. “The knights — _my_ knights, they’d gone mad, they were slaughtering everyone in Duscur, and I…”

“You did what you could.” Claude bows his head, pressing his lip to each of the old, puckering scars in turn. “You _saved_ who you could.”

“And nothing like that will happen in Fodlan,” Dimitri breathes. “Not ever again.”

“You’re a protector.” Claude’s lips move against Dimitri’s skin, making him shiver from the sensuality of it. “A defender of the people. That’s what makes you such a good ruler, Dima.”

Dimitri does start to cry again, then, not only because of Claude’s regard for him, but because he called Dimitri a _ruler_. Not a _king_. He’s never been able to articulate his discomfort with his own title, not when he sees the responsibility for ruling Fodlan to be the greatest honor of his life. It is, perhaps, in part to do with the association of manhood left over from his childhood in Faerghus, the way a king had to be physically strong and unhindered by emotion — the ideals Dimitri could never quite live up to, no matter how hard he tried. And so for Claude to find a way to acknowledge and honor his rank without also forcing him to confront his gender… It’s incredibly powerful to Dimitri. 

Claude straightens from where he’d been leaving love on Dimitri’s scars, sounding concerned. “Oh, Dima…”

“No.” Dimitri sniffles, shaking his head. “You may… you may keep going.”

Claude rests a hand on the small of Dimitri’s back. “If you’re too uncomfortable, you don’t have to force yourself.”

Dimitri snorts in spite of himself.

“That’s what you said the first time you tied me up,” he says, laughing weakly. “This is far from the first time we’ve made love, Claude.” He takes a deep breath, composing himself. “Please… tell me more.”

And Claude does. He continues to circle Dimitri, slowly, tracing the lines of each scar with his lips as he continues to murmur Dimitri’s praises. Tells Dimitri that he’s brave, that he’s a survivor. That he has fallen, yes, and perhaps has been broken at one point — but that the scars show Claude that Dimitri’s character is such that he will weave himself back together every time, to mend and patch everything that was flawed in order to make something new and better.

Dimitri lets his husband’s words wash over him — he’s only able to take in so much, but he absorbs all of Claude’s words, nonetheless, hoping that one day he will be able to internalize them. For so long, he’s only seen his own body as a map of suffering, a tapestry depicting all the times he’d nearly died — all the times during the war that he, perhaps, deserved to die. 

But Claude… Claude is, as he’d said, trying to give Dimitri a different story. One that he hopes one day he’ll be ready to fully hear, and believe. 

Claude’s mouth has been wandering Dimitri’s right side for some time now, more scars decorating his chest and abdomen left from before he’d fully learned to protect his blind spot. He spends a not insignificant amount of time lavishing his tongue on the mass of scar tissue where his right nipple used to be, suckling on the still-tender area and making Dimitri moan. And, in spite of his embarrassment, Dimitri has gotten half-hard from all the tenderness and attention. 

But soon, without warning, Claude’s mouth has begun to wander to _that_ spot. The scar near his left collarbone, inches away from his heart.

Dimitri inhales sharply, seizing his husband by the elbows to stop him.

“Claude—”

Claude lifts his head, looking into Dimitri’s stricken expression. 

“Oh…” 

His fingers trace the air over that particular scar, not quite touching the skin, but Dimitri’s breath catches in his throat regardless.

“Edelgard.” He swallows hard. “Her dagger… she…”

He trails off, not wanting to recount the story. Claude already knows it, after all. There is no need to relive the same pain that was inflicted that day, when his sister’s stubbornness ended up costing her her life.

Claude does not try to soothe this scar with a kiss, the way he had the others. Perhaps he understands how insufficient the gesture would be, how it would not heal the pain that still resides inside Dimitri, bone-deep. Instead, he looks into Dimitri’s face, his gaze steady.

“You tried to be merciful.” His voice barely reaches beyond the two of them, barely heard over the crackling of the fire. “Even after everything she did, trying to tear Fodlan apart. After all the hatred you had for each other, all those years.”

“I don’t want to talk about El right now,” Dimitri whispers, turning his face away from the scar. 

“No.” Claude leans up, carefully kissing Dimitri’s jaw. “There’s a time and a place for that. I just hope that some day, you can find peace with how things ended with her.” He takes Dimitri’s hand once again, lacing their fingers together. “I hope that you never stop reaching out a hand to your enemies, trying to build a bridge before choosing to burn one.”

Dimitri nods, wordless. _That’s what I want_ , he wants to say. _More than anything, that’s the kind of ruler I want to be_. But he finds he can’t say the words, conscious of the lump that has formed in his throat, afraid he cannot get the words out around it. 

“Breathe, azizam.” Dimitri’s breath leaves his lungs in a puff, unaware he’d been holding it. “That’s it, lovely. We can’t fix everything tonight. But maybe, if you’d like, I can help you feel as good as you deserve to feel.”

Dimitri’s eyes are closed, but he can feel Claude’s fingers tracing the lines of his cock, like he’s tuning an instrument. 

“Yes,” he breathes, reaching for Claude’s crotch as well — up until Claude gently nudges his hand away. 

“No,” and Dimitri opens his eyes to see Claude falling to his knees in front of him in a way he hasn’t since their wedding, when he’d had to kneel before Dimitri in order to be crowned his official consort. And even then, he hadn’t been half so close to Dimitri then, nuzzling the crease between Dimitri’s crotch and hip and inhaling deeply as though it’s his favorite perfume. “Tonight’s all about you, Dima. You, and the beautiful body you inhabit.”

Dimitri’s halfway to a protest — he can’t understand how Claude would want to do this for him, without any promise of reciprocation, when he can clearly see Claude’s need between his legs. 

“Will you— oh,” he gasps, as Claude takes Dimitri’s half hard cock in hand, pressing the lightest of kisses to the underside. “W-will you… a-allow me to be the partner you deserve once you have finished, then?” He means in the sense that he’ll help Claude come, whether by letting Claude use his hand or his mouth or his hole, which is surely the reward Claude will have earned for taking someone with Dimitri’s deformities to bed.

“Oh, my Dima.” Claude looks at him with such adoration in his verdant eyes that Dimitri thinks he could melt.

“You already are.”

And without another word, another warning, he swallows Dimitri down halfway, his expression utterly blissful as he does so. Dimitri can do little more than cry out, bracing one hand against the mantle as his knees buckle. The heat of the fire to his left is nothing compared to the heat of Claude’s mouth, the clever tongue teasing the head of Dimitri’s cock before he moves down again, taking Dimitri deeper. 

“Nnnngh,” he says, his toes curling, burying themselves in the pelt rug currently beneath Claude’s knees. He buries his free hand in Claude’s dark curls, causing his husband to turn that intense, loving gaze back upward, even as he keeps sucking Dimitri’s dick like there’s nothing else in the world he’d rather do. “Claude— I—”

He doesn’t have Claude’s way with words, doesn’t have that silver tongue… can’t sing his husband’s praises the way he deserves without feeling foolish. Still, he does his best, feeling clumsy as he does so.

“So good,” he murmurs, stroking Claude’s hair while his husband takes him ever deeper. “You have so many talents, my zvezda, and the fact that you’d choose to use them for me…” Dimitri swallows, trying to fight his impulse to call himself _unworthy_ or _undesirable_. Every day, he’s still in awe over the fact that Claude chose _him_ — not just chose to return to Fodlan, but to return to _Dimitri_ — and he’ll never think himself worthy of the man on his knees before him.

“Are you referring to my 'talents' at sucking dick?” Claude asks as he surfaces, briefly, for air, before diving back in to devour Dimitri again. Dimitri laughs, though it comes out as half a moan.

“Goddess,” he laughs, before taking a stuttering breath as Claude’s free hand comes up to caress his balls. “I’m… n-not… although… Goddess, _Claude,_ please don’t stop. Don’t ever stop…”

Claude was made for this, he thinks wildly, gripping the mantle so hard he can hear the wood crack. The way his mouth stretches around Dimitri’s cock so prettily, taking him in so deep — Dimitri knows, to his irritation, that he’s considerably well-endowed, but Claude takes him all the way down as though it’s no trouble at all, the head nudging at the back of Claude’s throat. The way he looks up at Dimitri through his eyelashes when he does it, his expression containing nothing but love.

He would keep Claude here, like this, for the rest of their days if he could. Without the world to intrude or their duties calling them away. 

He feels himself getting close — and that’s when he looks up, directly into the mirror opposite him, about eight feet away. At Claude kneeling naked between Dimitri’s legs, firelight painting their skin in shades of gold and red. At the way the light catches in Dimitri’s pale hair and skin, making him look aglow, like his hair is a halo. Claude himself, a creature of fluid bronze, his hands framing the scars at Dimitri’s hips that he’d kissed not minutes ago.

“Claude,” Dimitri gasps, feeling his orgasm approaching, and looks down at his husband for the briefest of moments. _You’re beautiful,_ those are the words on the tip of his tongue, but instead he says — 

“We’re — beautiful,” Dimitri groans, and reaches down to touch Claude’s cheek, feeling the way his cheeks hollow as he sucks. He raises his head again, taking in the vision in the mirror, wanting to burn the sight into his brain. “We’re beautiful…”

Claude hums, satisfied, and that final vibration is all it takes to bring Dimitri over the edge, coming in long, pleasurable spurts down the back of Claude’s throat. Claude swallows it all, as though he’s greedy for Dimitri’s seed, still making pleased little noises as Dimitri falls apart before him. He feels himself go boneless, falling to his knees with Claude still keeping his softening cock in his mouth, suckling gently as he comes down from the high.

Claude finally lets go with a small pop, Dimitri’s dick falling heavy and thick against his thigh. 

“Mm…” He rests his head in Dimitri’s lap, making no move to get up. “Thank you, darling.”

Dimitri is still attempting to catch his breath, about to topple backwards onto the pelt.

“Did… did you…?”

Claude shakes his head, still smiling widely at him.

“Nah. But you did.” Dimitri’s gaze drifts toward Claude’s lap, where he is still half-hard; he reaches for his husband’s cock on autopilot, but Claude tsks, taking his hand. “Enough of that. It’s always about fairness with you. Can’t I just give, without worrying about what I’m getting back?”

He gives Dimitri a meaningful look as he does so, and Dimitri supposes he has a point. It’s how he himself nearly always operates when they’re together, after all.

“Very well.” His elbows give up supporting his body, and he falls onto his back onto the soft bearskin rug before the fire. Between his second orgasm of the night and the pleasant heat of the fire, he is starting to feel somewhat drowsy. 

“Hah… thanks for indulging me a little, sweetheart.” Claude crawls on his hands and knees to cover Dimitri’s body like a blanket, nuzzling the side of his neck and kissing the parts of him that he can reach. “I still hope that someday, you’ll be ready to meet the Dima that I get to see every day.”

Their hands find one another once again, brown fingers weaving themselves between pale ones. Dimitri turns his head to see their linked hands silhouetted against the fire, glowing gold and bronze. Claude’s hair tickles his chin as his husband nestles his head beneath Dimitri’s jawline, turning so he can see the same sight Dimitri sees.

Dimitri squeezes Claude’s hand, their thumbs brushing together as he makes a resolution.

“I hope so, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I owe a lot to the good folks in the Claumitri discord talking through nonbinary headcanons with me. In my mind, Dimitri prefers to be called "Dima" (which is why Claude only uses that name), uses he/they pronouns, and hates being called "king" (same with "your kingliness") because it's a gendered title. I tried to make that come through here, but the primary focus of this fic was meant to be scars/healing and not Dima's gender, so I know I could have done a better job. He's still figuring himself out here, basically. 
> 
> [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/apostaroni)


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